


i have never loved before as i love you

by darkmillennium



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adam Milligan in Lucifer's Cage, Caring Michael (Supernatural), Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), M/M, Michael Possessing Adam Milligan, Michael in Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), Morning Cuddles, POV Michael, Post-Episode: s15e08 Our Father Who Aren't in Heaven, Pre-Slash, Sappy Ending, and then, michael watches adam sleep because he's got big alien vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24761941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmillennium/pseuds/darkmillennium
Summary: Michael knew love. He did.Humanlove, on the other hand....not so much.
Relationships: Michael & Adam Milligan, Michael/Adam Milligan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 150





	i have never loved before as i love you

**Author's Note:**

> HI this has been sitting in my drafts for like..a month? and so i took it and finished it and it got SUPER sappy and i regret absolutely nothing. i hope you enjoy!! :)
> 
> title taken from the quote below:  
>  _“I have never loved before as I love you,—with such tenderness—to the point of tears—and with such a sense of radiance.” -Vladimir Nabokov_
> 
> if you'd like a song to listen to while reading, i was listening to "the bones" by maren morris ft. hozier while i was writing!

Michael knew love. He did. He loved his Father, his brothers; Heaven, and all that it stood for. He sought to be his Father’s perfect soldier as a result of that love, and, likewise, endeavored to serve as a paragon of His ideals in an attempt to show to his brothers the key to gaining their Father’s utmost favor, to keeping their sacred peace intact and thriving. It didn’t work, obviously, but that never meant that he loved his brothers any less. Even when Gabriel disappeared, even when Lucifer’s actions forced Michael to lock him away in the Cage, even when his Father left and even when Raphael became disillusioned with His word and believed that He had crawled away to die, somewhere in the universe; Michael had loved them all.  
  
However, the concept of _human_ love was something entirely foreign to him, and it wasn’t until he experienced it from Adam’s point of view that he truly _understood_ it. As much as he could, anyways.  
  
It started in Hell, as most everything having to do with them did.  
  
Lucifer was stalking around the Cage; prowling, restless, occasionally throwing himself at the walls and screeching at the top of his metaphorical lungs. Michael always kept an eye on him—he wasn’t stupid, even if he was feigning insanity—but he stayed curled away in his corner of the prison, and made certain that he swallowed his pride and muttered incoherent babblings to himself and lashed out in a way that looked clumsy and feral enough to fool his sadistic brother. And it seemed that Lucifer was wholly fooled—with the lack of attention that Michael was giving to his taunting, he had retreated to his own side and simply continued to vent his rage without paying attention to his older brother.  
  
Meanwhile, Michael’s attention was mainly focused inwards, where Adam lay in hiding. They had been interacting for a while, now, and Michael often found himself enjoying the sound of Adam’s voice. Though he didn’t quite understand what he was talking about sometimes (Adam had yet to explain what a ‘ _Pokémon_ ’ was and why, exactly, his old college roommate had had an unhealthy obsession with it), the human’s chattering was a welcome relief from Lucifer’s raging screams. 

Currently, he was speaking with a wistful note in his voice, describing a simple activity he’d once done with his mother. Something about a failed attempt at gardening, if Michael was following correctly.  
  
As he spoke, Michael reached out for the memory in Adam’s mind and grabbed hold of it, molding and recreating it so it would play out for the both of them in their shared mental space. Adam, who hadn’t expected his small backyard to appear out of thin air, paused in his storytelling to suck in a breath and look around in wonder.  
  
“Holy _shit_ ,” he turned around to send a grin Michael’s way—one that managed to be both awestruck and sad all at once, the archangel noted. "This is...amazing. You can do this?"

Adam, as he'd found out, was woefully lacking in information beyond that of an average human; including—but not limited to—the massive well of power that an archangel held. So, Michael had taken it upon himself to inform him. It was a way to pass the time, after all, and it wasn't like either of them had anything better to do. 

Besides, Adam's commentary on many non-human beings could be quite humorous.  
  
"I can," he replied, watching neutrally as the human bent down to the ground in order to feel the memory-grass, seemingly inspecting whether it felt as accurate as the grass on Earth. “It’s just a recreation of your memories. Simple, really.”

Adam looked up at him with a snort. “ _Simple,_ he says, as if conjuring up memories out of thin air is _normal_ and not _cool as fuck_ —” 

Both of them turned their heads as laughter reached them from the memory-door, as it swung open with a _bang_ and a child—the younger memory of Adam—ran out, dashing down the stone steps and giggling as he swung around a packet of open seeds that littered across the grass in waves.

“Adam! Don’t waste them all!” a female voice called, from inside, and Michael and Adam both turn to watch as Adam’s mother—Kate Milligan, her name was—emerged from the depths of the house, and...

Normally, there was a barrier between their thoughts, their emotions. It was the least they could offer each other, down here, stuck for the rest of eternity. The dimensional space of the Cage might’ve been bendable, but it was still a tiny box amidst the deepest pits of Hell—there wasn’t much wiggle room. But, now, Michael was almost bowled over by the profundity of the flood of emotions coming from Adam’s side of their link, their barrier shattering as if it was made of glass—it was so, _so_ much, all at once, like the heat and passion and _intensity_ of a thousand stars. Though he had no use for it, the hand of his apparition came to rub at his chest, as if to somehow alleviate the hurt he was feeling, because...what else could it _be,_ other than complete and utter pain? 

Michael glanced up to stare at the human, wondering if he, perhaps, was in some sort of severe distress, but Adam’s face was blank, save for the muscles in his jaw tensing sharply. He was staring directly ahead, at Kate Milligan, as she walked down the stairs and scooped the younger Adam into her arms, with laughter coming from them both. The archangel was _floored_ —how could the human stand under something as strong as this with little to no reaction? Humans had been felled under lesser pain! _He_ had felled humans with lesser pain than he thought this must be!

Instead of continuing to question it, Michael set to work repairing the damaged barrier, something that proved to be much, _much_ harder than it had been to originally construct it. It frustrated him to no end, bringing a scowl to his apparition’s lips—he was an _archangel_. Why was the flood of human emotions proving to be so hard to suppress? 

Perhaps it had something to do with his soul. Michael knew how powerful human souls were; perhaps this was just the soul, pushing back against his attempts to contain it. But _why?_

“Adam,” he said, finally, roughly, and Adam turned his gaze back on him, eyes widening at Michael’s look of discomfort.

“Whoa, hey, you okay?” The human took a few steps closer to him, almost appearing to want to reach out to him before seemingly deciding against it. The pain in Michael’s chest disappeared at once, being replaced with something pointed—less _sharp,_ but pointed all the same. Michael wasn’t sure _what_ was happening, to be frank. 

“The barrier between our minds broke,” Michael explained, once he was sure that the fire wouldn’t return. He lifted his hand away from his chest and drew it back into the crossing of his arms, trying to cover his momentary weakness. The illusion dispelled around them. Adam _oh_ -ed in understanding.

“You were feeling my emotions?” He laughed a bit, weakly, as if he were shy. At Michael’s nod, Adam gave a slight wince. “Sorry. I just...she’s my mom. I love her. A lot.”

“That was _love?_ ” That burning, acute pain— _that_ was the human form of love? The idea was unfathomable to Michael. He hadn’t expected it to _hurt_ so badly.

“Well...yeah? And I guess it was—I don’t know, grief, maybe? Because she’s…” Michael briefly feels a flash of what he felt before, but it’s not as strong, this time. Possibly due to the fact that Adam is now consciously aware of the barrier being down, and, as such, was attempting to hold it down.

Which simply wouldn’t do, because Michael had found himself growing _curious_ , of all things—curious about the intricacies of human emotions. 

...Perhaps he truly _was_ beginning to grow a little insane, here in Hell’s darkest corners. 

“Did you rebuild the barrier, yet?”

Adam’s question snapped him out of his thoughts. Michael frowned.

“Can you not tell when it is there and when it isn’t?” Adam pressed his lips together, and then shook his head.

“Not really? I mean, I know when it’s _up,_ sorta. I can’t hear your thoughts when you have it up, but I also can’t hear them _now,_ and I can’t really tell whether that’s because you’ve moved off to the side away from my soul in here—” he tapped his own chest with a finger, “—or because you’ve got the barrier up. I can generally feel some of your emotions, though, even when it is. You’re really loud.”

Michael...wasn’t sure how to respond to that. It seemed as if he’d built the barrier too weak—he’d wrongly assumed that it would be enough to hold back human emotion. 

Apparently not. 

“I have a proposition,” he began, hesitantly. It was not often that he truly put forth ideas. Normally, it would mostly be Adam who spoke. Adam’s eyebrows raised upwards.

“Sure. Shoot.” Before Michael could begin to wonder what, exactly, he was meant to shoot, Adam pressed on. “Uh, I mean, let’s hear it.”

“We could leave the barrier down. Enough to where we wouldn’t hear each other’s thoughts, at least.”

“...But we’d be able to feel each other’s emotions?” Adam’s face formed a perplexed expression. “Why?”

“It interests me, how you experience...things. Sensations.”

The human snorted, a bit too critically for Michael’s taste. “You wanna know how my little monkey brain works, huh? Sure, whatever. It’s not like there’ll be much difference for me. Like I said, you’re...loud.”

Michael nodded, and left the remnants of the barrier as it was.

* * *

A thousand years and eternity came and went. The Cage finally opened in the face of the world’s culminating apocalypse, delivered by God himself. Now, what was once a barrier between them was nothing but ash. Instead of a feather of grace holding their thoughts apart, there was now only the place where grace and soul met with equal amounts of ardor and intertwined readily in mutual devotion for the other.

Michael stared down at the human below him, sleeping in the bed of his— _their_? Adam had alluded to it belonging to the both of them on more than on occasion—apartment. His eyes were closed, breathing deep and even, and Michael could feel the flickering of a dream occurring in Adam’s mind, and he was content to sense that it wasn’t a nightmare. They hadn’t been frequent, but they’d been happening—Adam said it was to be expected, after everything.

Michael was only regretful that _everything_ had had to happen in the first place. 

Many nights, when Adam decided he wished to sleep—he didn’t _have_ to, after all—were spent like this, Adam’s body under the archangel’s watchful stare, and Michael can remember with some amusement the first time Adam caught him doing it; whether that amusement is his own or Adam’s or both of theirs, though, he isn’t sure. Nevertheless, Michael always positioned his apparition next to the sleeping human on the bed, steadfastly remaining at his side even through unconsciousness.

His gaze traced over Adam’s eyelids, his lips, his nose, taking in the living wonder of the being below him. Though he did this each day, each night, there was something about his little ritual that never lost its charm. He supposed it was because it was _Adam_ that he was looking over—anyone else, and they would have lost his attention long ago. 

But not him. Not Adam.

Michael watched, a smile forming on his apparition's lips, as the rays of dawn broke out over the sky, eventually coming in to stream through the window and land directly on Adam’s face. He always complained about it—insisted that an “alarm clock” was superior over “some stupid bright light in his face”—but Michael had been there to bear witness to Adam’s joy when he’d first seen the sun, after all those years in the Cage. The tears that had formed were a result of both irritation to his eyes and the sheer joy of freedom, something that had long since been denied to them both. He knew how much Adam cherished the sun, it and each and every star, every life, every last blade of grass. 

Michael supposed that, in a way, he too had come to cherish them.

The damn kid. Too infectious for his own good. 

Adam was eventually roused by the stream of sunlight—each morning, he’d be awoken by blinking his eyes open before extending his arm up to lay the crook of his elbow over them, grumbling softly about the bright rays. His gaze eventually landed on Michael, though, and his face evened out from its irritated manner to a humored, slight smile.

“Morning, halo.”

Michael chuckled. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

“Great, actually.” Adam pushed himself onto his forearm and raised his other arm behind himself in a movement of stretching, and Michael’s eyes caught it all, burning it into his own memory like nothing else in the world was more important; and, to him, nothing was. He absorbed each and every action—the way the muscles in his body flexed with his maneuverings, how the morning sun caught the tone of his skin just enough to make it seem radiant, almost as if he were glowing; how his face scrunched together in a yawn. There was beauty in these moments, Michael thought, beauty that he hadn’t discovered until Adam had introduced him to the ebb and flow of human emotion—and he felt it, now, in the warmth of Adam’s love, shining brightly through their bond from the very moment he’d awoken. He can feel the way his own grace had learned to mimic it, the way it ebbed and flowed in return, with vigor and fervor. 

Sometimes, he wondered how he’d done it—managed to live through billions and billions of years so detached from emotions and the sheer _life_ it could produce within him. He couldn’t have missed what he hadn’t known, but the thought still baffled him all the same. 

When Adam reached up to pull at Michael’s arm, tugging him down, down, down until Michael softly laughed and materialized himself under the covers next to him, Michael knew that if he were to be asked to live as that again—the cold, indifferent soldier, the right hand of the entity who cared not for the world and its inhabitants—he would never be able to. Would never even consider it, not for a moment. 

Oh, he was still a soldier, all right. He always would be. But not God’s.

And Adam smiled and shifted to curl into the space between Michael’s neck and shoulder, effectively shielding his eyes from the sunlight with a murmur of “Five more minutes, ‘kay?”

When Michael instinctively brought up his apparition's arm and his wings to wrap around him, he couldn’t even find it in himself to regret anything. Not in that moment. Not when everything in him danced with content, with happiness, with a _peace_ unlike anything else he’d ever felt before.

The kiss he pressed to the top of Adam’s head was the promise of everything he could ever give and more, and, finally, Michael allowed himself to fall back into the feeling of their grace and soul, winding and lacing together until there was nothing more to the universe but _them_. 

**Author's Note:**

> this sort of comes from the fact that the michael of season five was largely unemotional and detached (save for when he talked to lucifer, which is a given) but in 15x08 he showed so much emotion that he was practically a stranger to the michael of season five. now THAT'S what i call character development.
> 
> comments are super appreciated!!! i don't write often from michael's pov so i hoped it turned out okay! i also hope you have a lovely day :D
> 
> my tumblr is @adammilligan! hit up my inbox anytime!


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